


I really want it

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Future Fic, on the road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy and Coulson go to a bar.</p>
<p>(based on a Tumblr prompt)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I really want it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AvatarQuake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarQuake/gifts).



The last thing he wants to do is have a drink right now. (Having a drink with Daisy, on the other hand, is never the last thing he wants to do.)

But their motel room is right above the bar (only room left, and he wishes he could use his government contacts in his recruitment trips but that that would be defeating the point) so it’s not like they were getting any sleep until it closes.

And Daisy likes cheap beer.

“Come on, this was a good day,” she says, grabbing him by the arm casually and dragging him through a crowd of scary dudes to the end of the bar.

She settles both down on what’s arguably the best spot of the place, and she takes less than ten seconds to get the barman’s attention. She asks for two beers for herself alone while Coulson fumbles with the black beer on offer.

“Good thing I packed my leather jacket,” she says, slipping it off her shoulders to reveal her sleeveless top, her bare shoulders glistening with sweat already. “I told you this was my kind of scene.”

“Yeah, you told me,” Coulson agrees, taking a sip from his drink, thinking how well she fits it, with the hair and the combat boots.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” she says. “ _Live a little_.”

She grabs him again, mercilessly, now by the hand, and drags him to the dance floor. Coulson thinks he knows where this is going. And Daisy has been in a good mood all day, even during the mission, and he himself has been too and that’s - not dangerous, but it makes them tread uncharted water every time, only to pull back at the last moment (that cafe in Hong Kong where Daisy had fallen asleep on his shoulder, that long ride in a rental through New Mexico where Coulson had started to hum along the radio without noticing, the way things felt a bit weird and a bit lonesome for the first few days after they return to the base, every time, and how his clothes smell of her afterwards, her and the peach lip gloss she favors when on the roadi).

He feels like they’re at an impasse lately. Gone are the years when he was her boss and could pull rank on her. Gone are the years of transition and secrets, where Daisy needed to become a leader on her own right before they could work well together again.

Now it’s comfortable and confusing and shared motel rooms and private jokes and junk food and gifted individuals who need to learn how to control their powers and small town diners and low level operations and laundromats and private smiles. And Coulson doesn’t know what they are to each other anymore. Friends, of course. But what else?

“What are we?” he asks, making her turn around.

“What?” she asks, because the music suddenly got loud.

“Daisy, you and me. What are we?” Coulson almost yells.

For a moment everything stops for him. Then a smirk starts creeping on the corner of Daisy’s mouth.

“We are.. _dancing_ , Phil,” she tells him, pulling him along and pressing her body against his.

They keep dancing their way upstairs, kissing against the door of their room. Daisy smells like leather and beer, fake dangerous like a fevered dream. Coulson doesn’t care, slipping his hand under her t-shirt while Daisy fishes their room key from her pocket. Coulson kisses her neck and her rock star hair as they walk into the room.

They don’t switch on the lights and Daisy stumbles a bit as she backs them both against the bed. As he falls on top of her Coulson hears the thudding sound of her boots hitting the floor.

He likes that she keeps the leather jacket on throughout, that she’s sweaty to the touch from the heat in the bar, that she only removes her jeans and Coulson not even that, pulling his clothes down to his knees and pulling Daisy’s underwear to one side. He’s been hard since they were downstairs and Daisy was rolling her hips against him while the dj played something slow and 70s. 

Daisy grabs his hand as he positions himself, their mouths almost never leave each other’s, she entwines her fingers with his a lot more tenderly and shyly than in the bar and Coulson remembers this is not some random hook up and he remembers the last five years of their lives and how they have both gone to hell and back for each other. The fast music and the taste of beer and the hurried kisses on the dancefloor are nice, but that stuff is just the decoration.

When he pushes into her is when he suddenly feels that indecision again, the one that’s been dictating his behavior for months.

“What are we?” he asks her again.

Daisy wraps her legs around his waist and squeezes his hand.

“We are this.”


End file.
